


Love Child

by OpalFruits



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cheating, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Hurt, May eventually get more chapters, Or not, Sadness, Why Did I Write This?, and their consequences, bad times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 02:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalFruits/pseuds/OpalFruits
Summary: Actions have consequences, and love isn't the cure-all the stories would have you believe.





	Love Child

You couldn't have kids.

You couldn't have kids, so of course Sans would look elsewhere. _Of course_ he would. He'd said it himself, right back at the beginning – he wanted a family. So when it became clear you couldn't provide one, when – after countless tests and endless medical trials – it became inescapably plain that your womb was never going to quicken...

Of course he would look for an alternative.

You understood.

But understanding didn't make it hurt any less.

He still loved you, he said. You were the only one for him, the only one his soul really wanted or would ever want. The affair had been stupid, a mistake from start to finish, and the fact that he'd slept with someone else didn't mean he _loved_ someone else. “i was actin' out – i did it to make myself feel better, when i should have been thinkin' about you. i'm so, _so_ sorry... it won't happen again.” That's what he said, and you had believed him.

You still believed him.

It's just that watching him now, holding his newborn child – the child he made with _someone else_ – you don't honestly know that's enough any more.

The pregnancy had been hard enough. Sans had, naturally, wanted to be part of the journey, and in your guilt ( _if you hadn't failed him, failed in your duty as his wife, this would never have happened...)_ it hadn't felt right to deny him – he'd gone to every appointment, joined in every class, read every book, all with you lingering on the sidelines. You'd watched as he and the mother of his child cooed over tiny vests, and miniscule socks, and soft blankets stitched with bone patterns, and the whole time you'd jealously thought, _'that should be me. That should be_ _ **us**_ _.'_

It had been the longest, hardest nine months of your life, but you'd thought... Maybe it's stupid, but you'd thought things would get easier once the baby was born.

You were wrong.

This – standing by the hospital room door, a pink balloon in one hand, a plushie skeleton in the other, and the widest, fakest smile you'd ever smiled on your lips – _this_ is the hardest thing you've ever had to endure.

You felt like a third wheel. A watcher, looking in on someone else's happiness. The baby was beautiful, and though some small, petty part of you wanted to, you couldn't bring yourself to think otherwise. Tiny rose bud lips and a shock of black hair, like her mother, offset by skin that was, perhaps, a shade too white to be entirely human. And her eyes, when she blinked them open to look at her adoring parents... a dazzling blue so reminiscent of Sans' magic, it was like a physical weight in your gut.

Sans held his daughter ( _his_ , and not _yours_ ) like she was the most precious thing in the whole wide world to him. His bright pupils roamed her sweet little face with absolute rapture, etching every line, every curve upon his memory.

Mama watched them both with a blissful smile, tired but proud, her slender fingers stroking the child's teeny fist while Sans tried not to cry tears of joy. She didn't even glance at you.

Neither of them did.

It was a defining moment. One of those rare instances in life in which everything becomes perfectly, painfully clear.

You didn't belong here. Sans did, but you... you _didn't_. You were and intruder, in this happy scene. An extra. You were Sans' wife, true, and you loved him more than life itself. For a while there, you'd even tricked yourself into believing that that was enough...

But Roxanne loved him too – that couldn't have been any more blatant than it was now – and she could do more for him, _be_ more for him, than you could. She'd already done it.

Put like that, it was all really quite simple.

Quietly, you tied the string of the balloon around the plushie and put it down on the windowsill. The movement didn't faze the new parents, who were totally and utterly absorbed in their new daughter. That too, was telling.

Tears gathering in eyes already red from far too many of them, you slipped away, silent as a ghost, leaving the new family to their privacy.

Outside in the corridor, Papyrus and Toriel and the rest were waiting their turn to visit. Papyrus in particular, delighted with his new role as uncle, was bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, craning his neck as though the child would toddle out behind you. You did your best to put on a smile as you approached, blinking rapidly to dispel the telltale moisture.

“She's beautiful,” you cooed, beaming your wide, false smile. “I think you guys can go on in now. I'm just, uh... I'm gonna go get a coffee. It's been a long day, y'know?”

You saw the pity on their faces, and that hurt worse than anything else. How pathetic you must seem to them – the pining wife, clinging to a marriage that was, by all accounts, already well past saving. You bit your lip as Toriel put a comforting hand on your shoulder, the others filing past without meeting your gaze.

“I know this is hard for you,” she said gently. “But if it is any consolation, I think you're handling it splendidly.”

Then she too left, as eager as anyone to meet the newest addition to the monster kingdom, despite trying to curb her enthusiasm for your sake. She paused outside Roxanne's door, her brow quirked strangely as she looked back.

“Frisk? Are you coming, my child?”

A clammy hand snaked it's way into yours and you startled. Frisk, a teenager now but still surprisingly short for their age, looked up at you, straight-faced and serious as ever. Their eyes narrowed under their fringe, bright with sympathy and some meaning you could only guess at. They didn't say anything, not with their mouth, but you heard their words all the same.

* _Don't. Please._

Then they let go of your hand and jogged to catch up with Toriel.

You watched them go, and only when they had disappeared into the room did you allow the first tears to fall.

Don't, they said. As if it were even a choice any more.

* * *

When Sans got home later that evening, it was to a quiet house and a sealed envelope on the kitchen table.

It shamed him to admit, but in his excitement over the arrival of his daughter (stars, he had a _daughter!_ ) it had taken him longer than it should have to notice your absence. It had taken longer still, after his friends' reassurances that you'd only stepped out to get coffee, to think to give you a call.

Now, two hours and countless unanswered phone calls later, he found himself standing alone in the kitchen, in the house the two of you shared, with the most awful sense of dread coiling in his non-existent stomach.

It didn't help that Frisk, in typical Frisk-fashion, had pulled him aside as he prepared to leave, a sympathetic look on their face that had set all kinds of old alarm bells ringing.

* _Sorry, Uncle Sans. Maybe she'll come around...?_

Sans had thought they meant about the baby and Roxanne... He knew it was hard on you, having to live day in and day out with the reminder of what he'd done. Frankly, it was a miracle you could stand to even _look_ at him, let alone _be_ with him, and he thanked his lucky stars every day that you loved him enough to make that sacrifice. That same strength of spirit, that unshakable perseverance, was exactly why he loved you so much in the first place.

It would be fine, he told himself. Once things settled, and he and Roxanne worked out a routine for the baby, he would be sure to show you _exactly_ how much you meant to him. He'd soothe whatever doubts you'd been hiding from him, erase that ridiculous sense of inadequacy – he would prove to you, again and again, _forever_ if that's what it took, that you were the only woman he'd ever love.

Roxanne might be the mother of his child, but you... _you_ were his _soulmate._

Now, though, in the silence of a house that suddenly no longer quite felt like home, he wondered if perhaps Frisk had been hinting at something else entirely.

He opened the envelope, feeling sick.

What he found inside was this:

One key – yours, of course. He could tell it was yours by the single key-chain still attached, a picture of the two of you on your honeymoon.

One wedding ring – again, yours. He imagined, as it lay in his bony palm, that he could still feel your warmth on it, fading faster with every second.

And one set of pre-signed divorce papers, damp with tear stains, awaiting his countersignature.

If the bottom of his world hadn't abruptly dropped out from under him, Sans might have wondered exactly how long you'd been planning this. Long enough, it would seem, to have had the papers drawn up by a lawyer at the very least.

Seeing as his soul was currently shattering on the inside of his rib cage, however, it didn't even cross his mind.

 _it's over,_ he thought numbly. _the best thing that ever happened to me, and i ruined it._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Found this sitting around on my computer. I have no idea what I was thinking or where I was going with this, but I kinda like it so I decided to post it regardless.


End file.
